


Everyone's Got to Dream

by asparkofgoodness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Halloween, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Nightmares, Pumpkin carving, Sleep Deprivation, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparkofgoodness/pseuds/asparkofgoodness
Summary: A figure steps into the cold blue lights of the alleyway.  Its face is framed by a familiar halo of white curls, but the face itself is unlike one Crowley has ever seen before.  Sickly pale skin has stretched past the breaking point across it, exposing the muscles of its cheeks and chin.  Its eyes are flat, black, unfocused orbs.  It stretches its bloodless lips in what might be a smile and holds its arms out wide, and its arms expand longer and longer until its horribly-overgrown fingernails scrape the brick walls on either side of it.  Crowley, mouth agape, steps back until his heel hits the empty bottle.  “Shit.”  It laughs, a throaty cackle, and walks slowly toward him.  The gutters catch fire.“What in God’s–”It stops.  “This–” the figure croaks, holding up its talons against its twisted face, “is… God–”  And it lurches toward him.After averting Armageddon, Crowley begins to have disturbing dreams.  Easy fix: he'll just stop sleeping.  It goes well enough until Aziraphale invites him over for Halloween night.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44
Collections: ABSFZ Halloween Good Omens Works





	Everyone's Got to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for A Big Spooky Fanzine's celebration of all things Halloween

Shadows stretch across the alleyway, staining the pavement and dulling the puddles of water left behind by the afternoon’s rain.The click of his boots echoes from the graffitied walls.Steam hisses out of a vent up ahead.Despite the dreary scene, Crowley has a bounce in his step.Just around the corner, _The Blade_ waits for him in all its gaudy ‘80s glory.He can feel the pulse of its music in the night air.

A clattering sound shakes him from visions of the club’s crowd: a wine bottle rolls past him, slowing to a stop in his path.He cocks an eyebrow at it and begins to feel a tingling at the back of his neck. _This isn’t right._ Something is behind him.Something that isn’t supposed to be there.As he turns around, he notices a distorted shadow cast from the street, human but pulled too long and thin.“Hello?” he calls out, annoyed by the interruption.He has somewhere to be.

A figure steps into the cold blue lights of the alleyway.Its face is framed by a familiar halo of white curls, but the face itself is unlike one Crowley has ever seen before.Sickly pale skin has stretched past the breaking point across it, exposing the muscles of its cheeks and chin.Its eyes are flat, black, unfocused orbs.It stretches its bloodless lips in what might be a smile and holds its arms out wide, and its arms expand longer and longer until its horribly-overgrown fingernails scrape the brick walls on either side of it.Crowley, mouth agape, steps back until his heel hits the empty bottle.“Shit.”It laughs, a throaty cackle, and walks slowly toward him.The gutters catch fire.

“What in God’s–”

It stops.“This–” the figure croaks, holding up its talons against its twisted face, “is… God–”And it lurches toward him.

He runs, spinning around and taking off down the alley, hearing the wet slap of its footfalls behind him.Against his better judgement, he glances behind him and is met with the sight of an empty alley. _It’s gone,_ he thinks, and then he collides with something soft and damp and feels smothering arms wrap around him.

Heart pounding, breath coming in short gasps, Crowley sat bolt upright in his bed.After a frantic scan of his surroundings, he collapsed back onto his smooth sheets and scrubbed his eyes with his palms.That was when he noticed the faint thudding coming from beneath his bed.

A high-pitched, feeble voice called out, “Alright up there?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dunbury,” he answered loudly.

“I heard shouting.”

“Can’t hear the bloody doorbell, but you hear this,” he muttered to himself.

Eleanor Dunbury, his ninety-year-old downstairs neighbor, typically kept to herself.She lived alone in her flat filled with ferns and an indiscernible number of cats.Any questions she had about his unusual lifestyle could be answered with a quick word, a charming smile, and a promise to bring her the next plant he “ran out of room” for when he redecorated.(He was constantly redecorating.)She was a good neighbor.The building was really too expensive for her those days, but by some miracle, the rental company never seemed to mind when the check for her rent, which they inexplicably hadn’t raised in decades, arrived late.

Unfortunately, his streak of luck had run out two weeks ago, when she came knocking on his door to inquire about the “horrid screams” she had heard coming from his flat a few days back.It took him an hour to convince her it had been a very gruesome murder mystery film amplified through a very expensive surround sound system.He could hardly blame her: Hastur had been painfully dramatic and shrill.He should count himself fortunate that she was the only neighbor to come knocking.

Now, more suspicious yelling was apparently coming from his flat.Of course she’d be concerned, but Crowley didn’t think it merited banging a broom handle, likely the source of the thudding, against her ceiling.“Just a nightmare,” he yelled to her.“So sorry to disturb you.”

She wasn’t the only one who was disturbed. _Third time this week_ , he thought with a sigh.Come to think of it, he hadn’t gotten a good, uninterrupted night’s sleep since averting Armageddon.He had always been able to design his dreams: choose a time and place, set the scene, and have a nice outing while his body rested.Now, something was going terribly wrong.Beautiful gardens turned sinister, hedges rustling, full of whispers.A shadow stalked him through ancient, busy streets, calling his name.And now, this disfigured dream-world version of Aziraphale, lunging toward him…

“Perhaps that horrid murder film went to your head.”

“Perhaps.I’ll switch to comedies.” 

As he pushed himself out of bed and dressed with a snap, he puzzled over the real solution.He knew humans believed that dreams could reveal subconscious desires.“I have absolutely no desire to see whatever that was ever again,” he said to himself.But maybe… He tried to pick the nightmare apart.A familiar place.Aziraphale, in the distance.And terror.Everything going wrong.Fire.

He slumped into his desk chair, unwilling to believe it.“It’s over.Adam fixed it.”And since that awful day, they had shared the Ritz, another number of dinner tables, and countless bottles of wine.He had even started to hope, to give himself permission to read into Aziraphale’s lingering stares and casual touches in a way he hadn’t let himself for centuries.Just last night, as they had shared a rich Merlot on a blanket in the park, laughing until his cheeks hurt, Aziraphale had reached over to pluck grass from his hair, bringing his face in so very close.The whole drive home, he had oscillated between cursing himself for being a coward and praising himself for his self-restraint, for not going too fast in these uncharted waters.

In order to keep any hope alive that they would continue to grow closer, he had to stop these awful visions.“Easy fix,” he said with a yawn.After all, he technically did not need sleep; Aziraphale hadn’t slept in centuries.“I’ll just stop.Never sleep again.”

* * *

“Going to let me in?”

At Crowley’s lackluster greeting, Aziraphale gave a pout.“You’re supposed to say ‘trick-or-treat,’” he said, holding up a bowl filled with packages of ornately-decorated chocolates that easily cost more than an entire pillowcase full of bite-sized bars and lollipops.

Crowley curled his lip at them, knowing full well he would eventually be coaxed into eating some but refusing to go down without a fight.He slipped past Aziraphale into the dimly lit shop.“You know me, angel.All tricks.”

Outside, darkness was creeping over the city, and the mischief had already begun.Laughter, and not the innocent variety, broke out just beyond the shop’s windows.The patter of kids running.A scream.“Do you actually get kids knocking on your door here?”On his way to his usual spot on the sofa, a sight gave him pause: two pumpkins, set on the coffee table (on a layer of plastic), with two knives in between them.

“No, but I normally turn the lights out and retreat upstairs in an effort to dissuade trouble-makers.”With a nervous smile, Aziraphale set the chocolates down and clasped his hands together.“I thought, this year, perhaps we could celebrate like the humans do, a little.I’ve always wanted to try my hand at carving a jack-o’-lantern, and I know how you enjoy the spirit of the holiday.”

That worn, familiar sofa and the blankets draped across its back called to Crowley, inviting him to give in to his merciless exhaustion.He had gone nearly a month now without sleep – longest effort yet – and he wasn’t about to surrender tonight.Not in front of Aziraphale, at least.“Yeah,” he said, stifling a yawn.“Whatever you like.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders relaxed and his smile stretched to the corners of his eyes.“Oh, wonderful.I believe we have all we need to carve them, and I found a channel that plays horror films, too.”

Skeptically, Crowley glanced over at the new TV.Nestled between stacks of books, it stuck out like a sore thumb, but Aziraphale had insisted on getting it so they could watch some of Crowley’s favorite movies together.So far, they’d made it through a few Bond films, one Indiana Jones, and _Ferris Bueller_.(“If these young people put the same amount of effort into their studies as they do truanting school, they would be well on their way to their country’s finest colleges instead of tormenting their poor dean.”) 

On the screen now, a tiny black-and-white carriage climbed a black-and-white mountain.A man leaned out the window and called to the driver.The camera cut to a team of horses with a bat hovering above them, then showed the man again, now wide-eyed with fear.“Terrifying,” he said sarcastically.

“Wait until the vampire fellow comes back.He’s got quite the devilish stare,” Aziraphale assured him.

“Well.After you,” Crowley said, gesturing at the pumpkins.

“Hm, yes.”Aziraphale hesitated.“I suppose we just sit on the floor, and…”He cautiously approached the coffee table, then primly lowered himself to sit in front of it.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you sit like that since Japan,” Crowley said as he folded into the space between the sofa and the table opposite him.“Now what?”

“Now we carve them.”

Crowley, blinking drowsily, waited for further instructions.When none came, he picked up his knife, stabbed the top of the pumpkin, and declared it carved.

“It is not,” countered Aziraphale, staring at his own pumpkin with furrowed brows.“You have to… Well, you’ve got to get a candle in it somehow, so you must need to cut off the top.”He sliced away as Crowley watched, his eyelids growing heavy.The cozy warmth of the shop, the gentle flicker of the film, and the dim yellow lamplight were pulling him closer to slumber. 

Eventually, Aziraphale lifted the pumpkin’s top by its stem and looked inside.His response jarred Crowley from his drowsy state.“Oh, look!Mine isn’t hollow!”He reached inside and then recoiled in disgust.“It’s all wet and stringy inside.Is yours?”

Crowley, who clearly hadn’t touched his knife since that first stab, answered with a raised eyebrow.

“Go on!Check,” Aziraphale urged him as he stood.“I’m going to wash my hands.”

The second Aziraphale left the room, Crowley folded forward until his forehead touched the table.“Hasn’t even been that long,” he grumbled.His body refused to adjust; it had apparently grown so used to rest that he couldn’t shake this fatigue.Dark circles had shadowed his eyes.Keeping up with conversation took a Herculean effort.If he didn’t sleep soon…

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?” 

At the sound of the concern in Aziraphale’s voice, he lifted his head.“Yeah, ‘m fine.Just… haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a while.”

“I thought you looked fatigued.”Setting two glasses of wine down next to the pumpkins, Aziraphale frowned.“Is something troubling you?”

“Nah, it’s–”He covered up another yawn.“Nothing.Busy.You know.” 

“Busy?”Fear clouded Aziraphale’s face.“Have they– Have you had contact with–“

“No, no,” Crowley interrupted.“You know I’d tell you if I had.Radio silence, still.All’s well.”Guilt washed over him: he was worrying Aziraphale, who had gone out of his way to plan an evening he thought Crowley would enjoy.He pulled the knife from his pumpkin.“Let’s see what’s inside this thing.”

One hour, two minor miracles, and a handful of near-curse words later, two jack-o’-lanterns sat on the table between them.Aziraphale had gone for the classic gap-toothed grin, while Crowley’s sported fangs and a menacing smile.

With a gleam in his eyes, Aziraphale surveyed their work.“All that’s left are candles!I’ll go–”Crowley shot him a look, snapped his fingers, and held out two flameless candles, plastic wicks aglow.“Oh,” he said sheepishly, “yes, good idea.”The specter of the fire hovered in the air between them for a moment, then Aziraphale reached for a candle, fingers brushing against Crowley’s cold palm, and the memory vanished, replaced by the warmth of the present.

When the candles were in place, Aziraphale turned out the lights and gasped with pleasure.“They look splendid, don’t they?”

“Yeah, not bad–” he yawned, “for our first go.”

In the darkness, he could just make out the pitying frown on Aziraphale’s face.“Perhaps we should call it a night.You’re dead on your feet.”

“No,” Crowley said quickly, “I’ll survive.”

“I imagine the wine and dark aren’t helping,” Aziraphale said as he picked up his pumpkin and set it in the window on top of a stack of books.“Let’s go for a walk.A bit of fresh air will revive you.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Crowley found himself sprawling out on a park bench with a sigh.Despite Aziraphale’s best conversation efforts and the raucous crowds of costumed revelers, he hadn’t regained a drop of energy.With a sympathetic glance, Aziraphale sat down next to him.“Need a rest?”

“A minute, tha’s all” he said, words thick on his tongue.“Rest my eyes.”

In front of them, the green lengths of the park stretched into shadow, spotted with streetlights.A family walked by, the mother holding hands with a daughter dressed as a princess.As they headed toward the exit to the park, the daughter tripped in her too-big glass slippers and her father picked her up and dusted her off.He cast a curious look over at the pair of them on the bench before taking his daughter’s hand.

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, opening his mouth to comment on the seemingly endless hold that princesses had on the minds of young girls, when the words fell to pieces on his tongue, shattering into a shout that springs forth as he recoils.What had been Aziraphale’s face is now a twisted, drooping mockery, as if heat had melted a plastic mask of a human face.The creature holds up its hand and wiggles its long, crooked fingers at Crowley.Its ripped cheeks fight against nature to form a flattened smile.

Jerking back away from the monstrous figure, Crowley snarls, “Come on.For whoever’s sake, this is ridiculous.Look, you have to stop–”As he speaks to it, the ghoulish Aziraphale leans forward, reaching out its hands.Crowley grimaces at the dirt-caked nails and spotted skin and suddenly, it’s so obvious that he can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner.“You… Someone sent you, didn’t they?”He lunges across the bench and grabs the thing by its lapels.“Hastur?Dagon?”He struggles to hold it in place, searching its panicked eyes for signs.It pushes itself backward, but he follows, fists tight on its filthy coat.“Or is the disgusting form a ruse?Are you–” he forces out, face so close he can feel its rapid breath, “an angel in disguise?”

With a yelp, the being tumbles backward off the end of the bench and Crowley moves with it, landing on top of it without letting go.He can feel grass under his knees and the fabric in his fists and he opens his eyes to the sight of hands on his: familiar, well-manicured hands.

“Crowley, please!You’re okay.It was just a dream.”

Aziraphale, face no longer distorted, was staring up at him in fear.Crowley looked down at himself.He had pinned Aziraphale to the ground and was straddling him. _What on earth…_ He leapt up and turned away, hiding his flushed cheeks.“I… Sorry, I… I have absolutely no idea–”

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale said, though he winced as he stood up.

“How did I…”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Sure, but… Waking up… like that.That was… I thought I had a hold of something in the dream, and–”

“Nothing to be frightened of, in reality.”Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively, then adjusted his waistcoat and bowtie.“Shall we head back?It’s getting late.”

Suspicious, Crowley leaned in.“You’re not the least bit upset?No complaints?Not going to check for grass stains?”

A curious expression, almost one of guilt, came over Aziraphale’s face, and he looked down at his hands, avoiding Crowley’s eyes.“Not at all.I’m only sorry that your sleep has been so disrupted lately, but I’m sure it will improve.”

“Oh, you are?”He stepped closer, eyes narrowed.“And how can you be so sure?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Aziraphale.”Impatiently, he waited, letting the silence sink in and do its work on Aziraphale’s conscience.

“I… oh, alright.I am dreadfully sorry,” he admitted, sitting back down on the bench.“What you’ve been seeing, in your dreams, these past few months–”

“Have they been coming for you, too?”Had Aziraphale been in danger and covered it up?He could have sworn they were finally past this: the lying, the distrust, the instinct to never ask ‘the enemy’ for help.

“No, it’s not that.You’re much safer than you think.You have nothing to fear.”

Crowley couldn’t stand the guessing game any longer.“And you know that because…”

“It’s me!Alright?The figure you keep seeing in your dreams, it’s me.”His eyes nervously flicked up to Crowley’s lenses.“I really am sorry, and I’ll stop, I promise.I thought I was getting better at it, but apparently not.”

Baffled, Crowley stared at him, hands clenched into fists by his sides.“It’s _you_?That disgusting monstrosity is you?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s quite bad enough to merit that description,” Aziraphale said in a slightly wounded tone.

“Oh, it is definitely that bad.How?How is that– and why?Are you trying to drive me mad?If so, top marks, creative and highly effective.”

“No!Of course I’m not.It’s silly, really, but… we had been spending quite a lot of time together, after it all happened – or, well, didn’t happen – and when you’d leave at night, the shop was so quiet and I would get a little lonely, I suppose.”

Silent, stunned, he sat down on the bench next to him, all tension in his body giving way to bone-deep fatigue.

“You know how I don’t like sleeping myself,” Aziraphale continued, “but I thought, well, I used to be able to pop into dreams.Had to do it quite a lot, in the early days.Thought it would be easy, but something went terribly wrong.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.So you kept on doing it?”Nerves raw from exhaustion and anxiety, he didn’t know whether to shout or laugh.

“I was hopeful practice would make perfect.I failed to realize how little you were sleeping, how much it was disturbing you.I can’t apologize enough.”

“And just now?After you see I can barely keep my eyes open, and you were right there next to me, you–”

“I wanted to fix it.I’ve read up on it, and I thought I could get it right this time, and then you’d be able to return to pleasant dreams once you realized you were safe.”

“Yeah, knowing you can just jump into my dreams whenever you like in the form of some horrifying creature, that definitely puts me right at ease.”

Finally, Aziraphale’s eyes met his and stayed there.“I’ll stop.I won’t do it again.I promise.”

“Good.Because you’re shit at it.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale chuckled hesitantly, “I suppose I am.And the humans never liked it.Divine light and an angelic form interrupting your slumbers to tell you your wife is pregnant or you need to abandon your home.I should have known better.Everything feels different now, and I don’t do well with change, as you know.But it was selfish of me.”

For a moment, Crowley stared at him, studying the remorse etched into the lines of his face.All in all, it came down to a few sleepless months.He was less angry than he was frustrated with Aziraphale’s communication skills, or lack thereof.After thousands of years being kept at a distance, how was he supposed to know the rules had changed?“You could have, I don’t know, said something.If you didn’t want me to leave.I would’ve stayed, angel.But I can’t read your mind.”

“No, I couldn’t ask you to give up your rest,” he said, shaking his head.“Your corporation clearly needs it now.I’ll manage.”

“That flat of yours has a bedroom, doesn’t it?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.“Are you suggesting you sleep there?That wouldn’t do.The room hasn’t been touched in ages, and the bed is old and not up to your standards.”

“It could be.If you’d allow a little redecorating, a few of my things mixed in with yours.”

“Do you mean–”

“Just a thought.”Regret rose in Crowley as he watched Aziraphale become suddenly very interested in the spot of grass between his feet.“Look, I don’t have to.I know you need your space.I wouldn’t want to be underfoot all the time.”

“I do believe there’s a serpent joke in there somewhere,” Aziraphale said flatly.His shoulders rose as he took a deep, slow breath.“Yes.Yes, I would like that.Very much.As long as you wouldn’t mind.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Crowley’s mouth.“Moving in to your dusty, outdated flat so I can sleep on a mattress from the 1800s?Sounds like a dream.”

At that, Aziraphale laughed, a light, giddy sound that chased away the chill from the October wind that had sunk into Crowley’s core.Content, he stretched out on the bench, sliding an inch closer to Aziraphale’s side.To be allowed to sit like this every evening until sleep took him, to wake up each morning to the sound of tea being stirred or books being shelved instead of the endless silence of his flat, to finally, truly come home: it was a vision still coated in stardust, more fantasy than truth.Unbelievable.And yet Crowley had heard him say yes.Twice.

“For tonight, we should get you back to your place so you can finally rest up.”

“Nah,” Crowley said, “give me five minutes and we can go back to the shop and the wine and chocolates.”

“Oh!You know, the chocolate was intended for the trick-or-treaters, but we’ve likely missed them all now.I suppose there’s no sense in keeping it another day.”Aziraphale tipped his shoulder toward him.Accepting what he hoped was an invitation, Crowley settled his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder and yawned.“Sleep well,” Aziraphale whispered to him.

As Crowley surrendered to the weight of his eyelids, the last image his mind registered was a teen in a dirty red and green sweater and a brown, floppy hat, running to catch up to his friends, gloved hand outstretched and finger-knives flashing in the streetlights.“I’m coming!” he called.As the voice echoed in his mind, Crowley drifted off to a peaceful, undisturbed sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> “Everyone’s got to dream, young girl. If you don’t dream, you go [crazy].” - Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)   
> Title and plot inspired by this ridiculous, terrible, wonderful film.
> 
> Thank you to my1alias for the beta and the awesome folks who put together A Big Spooky Fanzine for the inspiration!


End file.
